Blue Balls

by RC Boldt

  So, of course, I fold like a deck of cards. But in my defense, I’d like to blame it on the alcohol.

  Tugging my cell phone from my small purse, I pull up the text I’d sent Jack. Or more specifically, the GIF I’d sent him.

  Maggie bursts out laughing, her eyes flicking to mine before returning to the screen of my phone. “That’s classic. Nicely done. Oh!” She quickly hands my phone back. “You just got a response.”

  I’d sent Jack a GIF of Long Duk Dong, the foreign exchange student from the movie Sixteen Candles where he’s hanging upside down, saying, “What’s happenin’ hot stuff?”

  Because, yeah. I communicate best via GIFs. They bring me great joy even if they might not necessarily be the most mature method in the world.

  The good news? Jack responded.

  Jack: You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? And this GIF is the equivalent of a booty call?

  Me: Maaaayyyybeeeee.

  In case you’re wondering, yes. Drawing out the letters is seductive text-speak.

  Says the woman who’s been messing around with a guy, suffering one blue balls episode after the next.

  Jack: Ry and I are headed your way soon. Stay safe, Sunshine.

  “Awwwww!” Maggie swoons dramatically, nearly losing her balance on the small loveseat. “I love his little nickname for you!” And then, of course, she starts singing the song to go along with my nickname: “You Are My Sunshine.”

  I place my hand on her arm to stop her. “As much as I appreciate you making the connection between Jack’s nickname for me to the song ‘You Are My Sunshine,’ I’m not sure it goes along with the latest Nicki Minaj song they’re playing.”

  My friend merely waves me off, completely unconcerned.

  After she’s finished serenading me, I let out a long sigh. “I’m getting too old for this. Maybe we can…” For whatever reason, my shoes grab my attention. “Why am I wearing your shoes?”

  “We switched earlier, remember? You made me pinky promise we’d always share fuck-me shoes and the hot fuck-me stories that go along with them.”

  Huh. For whatever reason, I don’t recall that conversation.

  I cast an adoring look down at them—my heels, the ones Jack bought for me—the ones Maggie’s currently wearing and can’t help but lean down and stroke the side of the beautiful shoe. Of course, since I’ve had more than my fair share of alcohol, I take advantage of Maggie’s jeans-clad thigh to rest my head.

  “Are you really stroking your own shoes?” Maggie giggles. “While they’re on my feet?”

  “I have no shame. These are beautiful shoes that an equally beautiful man bought for me.”

  Oh crap. See what happens when I drink? I start spouting off all sorts of sweetness. I mean, really. What’s next? Reciting sonnets?

  Like the weirdo I am, I leave my head on Maggie’s lap and pet my heels. The lighting in this place makes them even more sparkly and beautiful.

  Also, I’d like to note that Maggie’s lap is super comfy.

  “Hey.” My head snaps up only to find an intimidating bouncer wearing a black polo shirt with the name Reggie embroidered on it staring down at us. “You need to sit up or leave. We can’t have people passed out in our place.”

  I straighten, eyes wide with innocence. “I was only admiring these shoes.” I gesture down at them. “Aren’t they gorgeous? Especially the way the light hits them just so and makes them sparkle even more?” With a slight pause, I press on. “Plus, this material is not only surprisingly soft but also stain resistant.”

  Apparently, I’m also trying my hand at being a shoe salesperson tonight. But I don’t care because I think I’ve hooked Reggie’s attention.

  Gesturing to Maggie’s foot, I offer, “Go on. Seriously. You have to feel it for yourself.”

  Reggie looks torn but finally, his eyes shift to Maggie’s as if to ask for permission.

  “Go ahead.”

  He bends down and reaches for the heel. As soon as his fingers make contact, his eyes widen with surprise. “Wow.”

  “Right?” Maggie says with a wide smile. “Crazy soft. So you see why she was stroking them.” She punctuates this with a nod, and even in my drunkenness, I can’t help but laugh at her. Luckily, the bouncer is still entranced and inspecting the shoes.

  “I’ve got to tell my boyfriend about these,” Reggie remarks. “He has a thing for anything sparkly.”

  My eyes dart to Maggie’s, and we exchange the whole Did he slip past your gaydar, too? look. Because this guy’s shoulders are massive—like Atlas holding the world kind of massive. I’d guestimate he’s pushing two hundred-ish pounds and assume he’s BFFs with the weights at the gym.

  Then again, as I peer closer at his perfectly coiffed hair, I guess it’s probable the overabundance of alcohol in our systems threw us off.

  “It’s crazy that they’re actually that soft and”—Reggie lifts his eyes to Maggie’s, still squatting at our feet—“stain resistant.”

  “This was a total win in my book, especially after I had a terrible experience long ago with a rockin’ pair of suede Jimmy Choos. These make it all better.” I smile down at him.

  “Oh, I completely understand.” His face transforms into a smile, and holy shit, he’s just too adorable for words. “I had a pair of suede shoes that were ruined by someone spilling their drink on—”

  “Are you hitting on my girl?”

  All three of us whip our heads in the direction of the male voice, and I can’t restrain the smile that spreads across my face.

  “Clint!” I shoot off the loveseat in his direction, hurling myself into his arms. “I missed you!”

  Patting me on the back, he holds me out at arm’s length and peers down at me with amusement sparkling in his dark brown eyes. “Getting a little wild and crazy tonight, huh?” Positioning me by his side, he slings an arm around my shoulders and greets Maggie before turning his attention to Reggie.

  “I see you’ve met my favorite girl.”

  Reggie crosses his arms, muscles bulging, veins prominently on display. How does he not blow out his shirts around the bicep area? That fabric looks like it’s protesting the stretching motion, crying out, Stahp it. Just stahp ittttt. “Really, now?”

  Clint reaches out to shove Reggie in the chest playfully, and I wonder how he doesn’t come away with a broken hand. “Hush. You know I adore you.”

  I’m having one of those moments where my mind is lagging, frantically trying to catch up. “Wait. You mean that Reggie is your…” I tip my head to the side in question.

  Clint grins. “My new boyfriend? Yep.” He flashes a sly wink at Reggie.

  Shooting an accusing glare at Clint, I shove at his chest. “You didn’t tell me this.”

  “You’ve been preoccupied lately with”—his eyebrows rise suggestively before he sing-songs—“Mr. Blue Balls.”

  Maggie’s dissolved into giggles, Reggie appears intrigued, and Clint looks pleased with himself, whereas I’m standing here staring pointedly at him.

  “I need food.” Maggie announces this suddenly. “Preferably greasy food.”

  “Good thing we’re here, then.”

  Spinning around in surprise, I find Jack and Ry standing there, both men looking far too handsome and garnering appreciative glances from other women nearby.

  And what is my initial response to those women and their eyes casting lusty glances at Jack? I totally did one of those feral cat hisses before laying the smackdown on them.

  In my mind, that is. Because let’s be real here. I’m a big talker in my head. In real life? Not so much. But in my head? Oh, it went down. Especially with that one blonde sitting a few feet away who’s practically raping Jack with her eyes. First, I’d slap her dramatically, she’d gasp in outrage, and then I’d take her down to Chinatown. Without breaking a sweat or one strand of hair shifting out of place.

  Whew. That was intense. I almost feel out of breath just imagining it.

  “I know what you’re thinkin
g,” Jack taunts in my ear.

  “That I’m starving and ready to go to Comptons?” I reply sweetly. Comptons is the only restaurant—a diner really—which stays open until the wee hours of the morning, mainly catering to college kids or shift workers.

  “This was supposed to be a guy-free night.” I pout playfully.

  Oh my God. I’m pouting now? I’ve definitely had too much to drink. Time to call it a night, for sure, before I start twirling my hair around my finger and chomp on a wad of bubble gum, too.

  “Sorry, Sunshine.” Yeah, except Jack doesn’t sound the least bit sorry.

  “But wait!” Maggie protests as Ry pulls her up from the loveseat. “We never got to try that purple haze shot.”

  Ry looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh. “Mags, we can try that another night.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  I turn to my coworker. “Clint? You want to come along?”

  “Nah, I’m just waiting for this guy’s shift to end.” Clint tugs me in for a brief hug before whispering in my ear. “Have fun with Mr. B.B.”

  “Have fun with Reggie. Remind him to tell you about the stain resistant fabric.”

  He wrinkles his nose, and I have to laugh before shoving him playfully. “Not for anything sexual, you dork.” Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, I say goodbye before turning to leave. Just as I turn, Clint takes it upon himself to slap me on the ass with enough force to cause me to stumble slightly.

  Jack’s hand reaches out to steady me, and I don’t miss the sharp look he flashes Clint before carefully leading me toward the exit.

  “Sure he’s just a friend of yours?” Jack asks as we step out onto the sidewalk.

  I laugh. “Of course.” A shiver runs through me from the chill of the night air. Maggie and I had gone without jackets because we didn’t want to keep up with them and knew we’d be warm enough indoors. Now, however, is a totally different story.

  When he removes his light jacket and drapes it over me, I can’t help but stop and stare up at him, causing other pedestrians and partygoers to spill around us.

  Jack eyes me cautiously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You gave me your jacket.”

  Wow. Thank you, Captain Obvious. I sound like an idiot.

  He gives me an odd look. “You were shivering.” He says this like it’s nothing. Like any guy would give a shivering woman his jacket.

  But he’s wrong, especially in this day and age.

  “Hey! Is everything—” I vaguely hear Ry call out to us a few yards behind with Maggie. I don’t respond. Instead, I press my palms flat against Jack’s chest and walk him backward until his back is against the brick exterior of the nearest storefront.

  His eyes peer down at me, slight shadows playing across his features from the nearby streetlights contrasting with the darkness of the evening.

  “Sunshine?” His tone is questioning.

  The added height of my heels allows me to easily drag my lips across the dark scruff of his jawline, and I bask in his sharp intake of breath. Bringing my lips to his ear, I whisper, “I want you to take me home.”

  “That’s what the plan was.” His voice is gravelly, with a slight tinge of humor in it. “After we get you ladies fed.”

  My teeth nip at his earlobe. “I want you to feed me.” I back away slightly and give him a wicked grin. “I want you to feed me that monster co—”

  “Sarah! Are you coming or what?” Maggie interrupts. “I need food. Baaaad.”

  Turning, I see my friend and Ry catching up to us. “Sorry. No can do. I’m going to take this man home, and we’re going to get it on like Donkey Kong.”

  Vaguely, I hear Jack mutter something that sounds like, “Oh Jesus.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Jack

  If it were anyone else, I’d be immediately shoving food down their throat and seeing them home safely. But something about Sarah makes me lose sight of everything—of logic and, honestly, maybe even some of my morals. Because when she started talking about us getting it on, my dick perked up instantly.

  Obviously, there’s no way in hell I’ll see it through while she’s still like this. But, damn it, I fucking want to sink so deep inside her. I want to taste her everywhere. I want to look into her eyes when I make lo—

  “Holy fuck.”

  I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until Sarah’s voice jars me, teasing, “That’s the idea, Westbrook.”

  Forcing a smile, I try to shake things off. “Let me see about grabbing a cab at the corner.” I lift my chin in the direction ahead of us.

  “Sweetness!” Sarah pumps her fist, doing some sort of little celebratory dance before tossing her hands in the air above her head. “Hands in the air if you’re gonna get lucky tonight!” she calls out, instantly receiving some hoots and hollers from a group of young, college-aged guys nearby. “Whoop, whoop!”

  “Simmer down there, horndog.” I take her hand, steadying her when she stumbles in her heels. The same heels that nearly stopped me in my tracks when I saw them. Hell, when I spotted her standing in the club wearing those jeans that hug her in all the right places and that black shirt that consists of a full front but only two wide crisscross straps in the back, I nearly swallowed my tongue.

  Throwing my jacket over Sarah was not entirely selfless. It was also because her nipples had perked up, and there is no way in hell I want anyone else to get a glimpse of them. They are mine.

  Mine. Fuck. Ry was right earlier. I’m so screwed. Worse, I don’t know what my deal is in thinking I could deny anything—to myself or to my best friend.

  I’m so far gone over this woman. A woman who doesn’t do relationships. A woman who’s nowhere close to feeling the same way about me as I do her. But facts are facts. She’s my sunshine, and I don’t want to consider being without her.

  Because I know without a shadow of a doubt that my life would be far too dark and lifeless without her in it.

  * * *

  “Jack,” Sarah calls, drawing out my name languidly. “I cannot wait to get out of these clothes.” She’s kicking off her heels, removing my jacket, and tossing it onto the nearby chair. Her purse is dropped to the floor without a thought as soon as I lock my door behind us. Toeing off my own shoes, I quickly cinch my fingers around her slim upper arm when she sways to one side.

  “Oooh.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “You saved me again.” Then she spins around, out of my grasp, and disappears around the corner toward the hallway leading to my bedroom.

  “I hope you are”—she pauses to sing-song the rest of her words—“read-y to roooollllll.” There’s a brief pause again. “And I sometimes like to sing-talk. Hopethat’sokay.” Her words run together, voice trailing off as she likely enters my bedroom.

  Scrubbing a rough hand over my face, a small laugh escapes me. Because this is quite the treat to get to see Sarah like this with those walls not so strongly enforced. She continues softly singing, “No! Sleep! Till Brooklyn!” Not a chance she’ll be giving the Beastie Boys a run for their money, that much is certain.

  Following the path she’s taken, I stop short at the sight of the clothing trail along the hallway, the floor littered with a pair of jeans, her shirt and bra, along with what looks to be the skimpiest black thong.

  Shaking my head, I close my eyes and pray for strength. Strength to get through this night in the company of a woman who’s got me so strung out over her; who’s so fucking gorgeous and doesn’t even realize she has me wrapped around her damn finger.

  “Jack.” Her husky voice carries out from the bedroom. I step past the doorway to find her sprawled out on my bed. In the middle of it, she has her arms thrown out as if she’s about to make snow angels. Her nipples puckered and practically begging for my mouth, and her long, slim legs entice me to slide between them.

  “Are you gonna snuggle with me?” She remains there, unperturbed by the fact that she’s gloriously naked atop the covers
. “Naked?”

  With a laugh, I shake my head. “No, Sunshine. No naked snuggling tonight.”

  Her lips form a moue. “Why not?”

  I step closer to the bed, tugging my polo shirt over my head, and letting it drop to the floor. “Because I don’t want to take advantage of you.” My jeans follow suit, and I remove my socks. Clad in only my boxers, I tug the covers back. She slides and repositions herself beneath them before I slip in beside her.

  “Maybe I want to take advantage of you.” One palm glides over my chest and slides lower before I catch it, my eyes darting over to her. “We can blame it on abs.” Sarah leans over, her lips pressing a kiss to my left pectoral. “Abs made me do it. Abs made me take advantage of you.” Her palm grazes over my firm abdominals, and the muscles contract beneath her touch.

  Jesus. My dick is at nearly full-salute status right now. Placing my palm over hers, I stop her movement. “Sarah.” My tone is pleading. “We can’t.” Fuck. I hear the wavering in my own voice.

  Her eyes brighten, visible in the room with the bright moonlight peeking through the slats of the blinds. “What if we play ‘just the tip’?”

  “Sarah.”

  She frowns. “I don’t like it when you call me that.”

  “It’s your name.” My response is slow, drawn out in my confusion.

  She gives me a look like duh. “I know that. But when you call me Sarah instead of Sunshine, it’s like something’s missing all of a sudden. And I don’t get that warm feeling inside.”

  If I were a chick, I’d have a fucking field day trying to decipher whether she’s just admitted to having feelings for me—stronger feelings, that is—or if it’s merely the alcohol talking. As it is, she’s already got me tied up in knots.

  “Can I have a bedtime kiss? Please?”

  I have the most pathetic excuse for resolve around her. “Just a small—”

  Instantly, her mouth is on mine, cutting off my words, and she slides her naked body over mine to straddle me. Inwardly hissing at the contact of her heated flesh, I automatically move my hands to trace over the curve of her ass. The minute she arches and presses her breasts into me, her hard nipples poking me, I feel my resolve begin to crumble.